Birds of a Feather
by Von
Summary: Tiboldt's Family Circus brings together two birds of a feather. The world tries to tear them apart.
1. Chapter 1

Another story? Oh yes. But this one will be finished. I'm just posting the first chapter here because you guys often give me incredibly good advice - and point out embarrassingly massive errors. :P

My knowledge of Hakweye comes from a half hour of wikipedia study. I've taken only bare bones of his origin story and adapted them to the movie-verse. So if you see any familiar names, consider them cameos and not tied to comic-verse reality.

Uh, no ships? Story basically _ends_ in Avengers, so, don't be waiting for anyone not in this chapter to be showing up anytime soon.

Comments and advice are treasured!

**Birds of a Feather**

"Surely Mrs Figg-"

"_No, _Vernon, I just told you - one of her mangy cats got itself run over or something and she's at the veterinary hospital - probably all night, knowing her."

Harry, from the privacy of his closed and locked cupboard, rather thought that was nice of Mrs Figg. The old lady might smell like cabbage and petted him the same way she pet her cats, but at least she genuinely seemed to love them. Aunt Petunia and Uncle Vernon talked about her like being kind to animals was the sign of an unbalanced person.

Well, alright, maybe loving quite so _many_ animals led to furniture covered in hair and half-dug-up poo-ridden garden lawns, but at least Mrs Figg never hurt anyone.

His sore eye throbbed at the reminder.

"Well what about whassername? Gel' with the horrible little baby. She might take him?"

Harry could just _hear_ his Aunt's lips purse. The 'Gel with the horrible baby' was a young unmarried woman who both his Aunt and Uncle thought scandalously indecent and unworthy of living on Privet drive - unfortunately, Vernon had loudly said as much, _to_ her, rather than just talking about her behind her back as was proper.

Harry knew all about it because Petunia had _yelled_ at him that night, one of the few times she ever raised her voice to her husband.

Although she didn't say anything now, her face must have gotten the message across. Uncle Vernon backed down.

"Fine then, fine. We'll just have to bring the boy along."

Harry perked up. They were going somewhere? It must be nice if they didn't want him to come so badly. Quickly, he squinted around his cupboard. The light bulb had blown again so it was sometimes hard to see without the grating opened. There, that looked like his best pair of jeans in the 'pants' pile of clothes. And that sort of dark-grey folded shirt might be blue? The darker one that looked almost new, not the faded one with the picture on the front peeling off.

Quickly, not wanting to be caught in the act of changing, he wriggled out of his current clothes and into a fresh set.

Footsteps rattled the floor beneath him as they came closer - his Uncle's - and Harry scrambled to sit back and look properly like he was 'thinking about his bad behaviour' and not 'eavesdropping on his betters'.

The door wrenched open. Uncle Vernon glared down at him, annoyed rather than angry. His moustache bristled as his lip twitched.

"Go wash your face, Boy, and put on some shoes. We're going out."

Harry nodded meekly and darted out as soon as Uncle Vernon left enough space. At just seven years of age and shorter than his cousin, Uncle Vernon was a towering mass of body odour and temper that Harry didn't like being too close to. He dashed up the stairs - "_Don't run in the house!"_ - and quickly washed his hands and face before trying to finger-comb his hair into looking a little neater. Despite what his family thought about him, he really did _try_ to please them.

He tried to be good. Or at least, good _enough_.

The weight of the water flattened his hair down a little, though it would spring right back up again once it dried. Still, he trotted downstairs in the slight hope of being praised for trying - he wasn't - and pulled his slightly too-large sneakers on with no less enthusiasm.

They were going _out_!

"Why does _he_ have to come?!" Dudley's whining wailing started up on cue. His voice was coming from the lounge so Harry slunk closer to the kitchen. He could get out the back and go around to the car if his cousin tried to take it out on him right away.

"Because there's no-one else to take him, sweetums." Petunia cooed back. She was probably trying to wrestle him into his jacket again. She could not seem to understand why the buttons kept popping and complained bitterly about 'cheap outsourced labour'.

Harry couldn't understand why she didn't just see that Dudley was fat and needed either less food or bigger clothing.

He was smart enough not to say so, though.

"It's not _fair_." Dudley sulked. "This was supposed to be _my_ treat. I got a B in science!"

Well, _Harry_ had got an A in science and since Dudley could copy Harry's assignments but not his tests - he'd gotten a B.

"Oh I _know_ diddums, I know it's not fair. Unfortunately, sometimes we must just tackle life's unfairness and soldier on. You _are_ my little soldier, aren't you?"

"Don't go putting ideas into his head, Pet." Uncle Vernon said sternly, probably reading the paper in the living room as he waited for his wife and son to be ready. "Dursleys don't join the rank and file. They may, if the need is dire, become _ho_fficers."

Harry sighed quietly. A few soldiers had come to school once, on careers day. Harry had thought them to be rather impressive. The three men and a lady were all in army clothing, all strong and tall and very polite but also very confident - like if bad guys attacked they would just _leap_ into action and take them down and save lives without even breaking a _sweat_. Harry had wanted very badly to talk to them but hadn't quite managed to work up the courage with Dudley hanging around as well. Dudley liked to spend his time spoiling things for Harry and he'd just _known_ his mean cousin would have found some way to make Harry look stupid.

"Well! I think we're all ready to go!" Aunt Petunia said cheerfully. "Off to the circus!"

"Yay! The circus!" Dudley cheered.

Harry gasped, wide-eyed. The _circus_?! He'd never _ever_ been allowed to go before! He'd only ever seen it in story books or overheard tales from Dudley or other kids at school. He wriggled in excitement but quickly tried to hide it as he heard heavy footsteps coming towards him once more.

He straightened as Uncle Vernon rounded the doorway and peered suspiciously at him.

Harry stood still and tried not to look too happy, just in case Uncle Vernon decided that, actually, Harry _could_ stay home locked in his cupboard.

"Listen up boy. There's going to be some _rules_." His uncle said sternly. Harry nodded.

"I'll pay for your ticket in - that will get you inside and let you watch the show in the circus tent-"

Harry had to work really _really_ hard at not showing his sheer happiness at the thought.

"But I won't shell out a _single penny_ for anything else, do you understand? So don't come whining about anything - the answer will be **no**." 

Harry nodded.

"And finally." Here Uncle Vernon's face got dark and tight - he _really meant _it. "This is a _family_ outing, celebrating Dudley's achievement. I won't have you spoiling it, so keep out from underfoot. If you do anything - _anything _- to cause trouble or otherwise spoil Dudley's treat I will give you such a thrashing you won't be able to walk for a week."

Obediently, Harry nodded. This was a 'special' threat. So far he'd never actually been 'soundly thrashed' but he didn't like the sound of it and wanted to keep his record of avoiding it perfect.

"Yes, Uncle Vernon. I'll stay out of the way, promise."

His uncle just looked at him like he was already lying.

It hurt, and it made him a little angry too.

He _never_ lied. Well, hardly ever. But _Dudley_ lied all the time. Why did they always treat _him _badly and not Dudley?

"You'd better." His Uncle said at last. "Now get in the car."

{}

The circus. Was. INCREDIBLE!

Harry stared in awe from his seat, face almost plastered to the window as his Uncle cursed the price of parking and his Aunt snapped to just '_find_ somewhere Vernon, _honestly._'

They were in a huge muddy field right out of Surrey with almost no other houses around. They hadn't had to drive very far to get here but it felt like they'd gone to another world. There were lights _everywhere_! They burned gold and blue and pink and green, so bright they could be seen even though it was daylight.

Giant wheels spun slowly, small fast-moving things _screamed_ up and down metal scaffolding and the air itself smelled like hot donuts and roast meat and competed for space with the sound of people laughing and talking. The second Uncle Vernon finally parked the car, Harry was out like a shot, bouncing on his toes.

"Right!" Uncle Vernon said loudly. "Just in case we get separated." He gave Harry a dark look. "We'll meet back here at the car after the show. Alright?"

"Come _ooooon._" Dudley whined, pulling at his mum's arm. Aunt Petunia just smiled indulgently and allowed him to drag her off. Uncle Vernon turned to Harry and handed him his ticket with a scowl.

"_Right_ after the show, boy, or we'll leave you here. You wouldn't be the first boy to 'run off to the circus' and we'd be well shot of you."

He turned back around to follow his family before he could see the dawning excitement in Harry's eyes. That was possible? He could stay and maybe live in this magical place of light and laughter instead of with the Dursleys?!

He jumped up and down a little in sheer joy before running to one of the entrances to show his ticket and get his hand stamped. On the way here, Uncle Vernon had said they would look at the 'side shows' before the main event, so he had some time. Maybe he could find the boss of the circus and ask to stay? Or, or maybe he should look around first and see if he couldn't find a job to do - his Aunt and Uncle were very clear about how they wouldn't put up with him if he didn't earn his keep.

Grinning, he vanished into the ocean of people.

{}

Clint Barton, AKA 'Hawkeye' AKA 'The World's Greatest Marksman', slowly worked his way through a bag of cinnamon-frosted donuts. At thirteen years of age he was still young enough to pass as just some random kid and so one of his jobs was to patrol the sideshows for poor losers and prove that the games they'd just lost a lot of money on weren't fixed. (They were, of course, _all _sideshow games were fixed to a degree - but at Tiboldt's Family Circus they were pretty shamelessly stacked against the customer.)

Winning involved either luck, knowledge of how the game was tricked out or sheer talent to actually win anything. Having both of the last two and a baby-face besides, Clint was always put on this duty. Sure, he maybe made people a little _more_ angry by showing them up so easily but hey - it's not like they weren't going to be robbed anyway. They may as well lose all their money on semi-legit sideshow games rather than just have it lifted from their pockets during the show.

It had been two years since he'd run away from the wreckage of his life in Carson Carnival. After having been betrayed so thoroughly… by so many… well, it was easier living this kind of life. No ties, just a job based on his skills and a bank account only he could access, which he put his under-paid profits into as often as he could. Some of the people here were nice enough, in a distant 'gang of thieves' kind of way, but he wouldn't trust them for even a split second.

Still, so long as everyone did their job and kept their distance, it wasn't a bad life. Being young he didn't get much of the haul, but he did get his own tent - which he usually set up in a tree or on top of the lion cage, the better to see people coming with - and free food whenever he wanted, so he wasn't trapped. If he ever _needed_ to, he could leave.

Maybe when he was legal, he would. Maybe see if he could earn a legal living by joining an archery team - he'd heard they could get millions through sponsorships. Or, if that was too much hassle, he could probably be a much better thief by himself.

Speaking of thieves, one large tub of lard was loudly accusing Mitch - one of the carnies - of being just that. Showtime.

He drifted closer, acting the part of a curious kid drawn in by drama. The man's wife was tight-lipped and red cheeked, though in embarrassment or anger it was tough to tell - even for him. He might be able to see well but sometimes he didn't always interpret what he saw correctly.

"Oh I know YOU can do it!" The man was shouting now. "You thieving, scamming gypsy. But decent, honest people-"

"Hey, can I try?" Clint butted in, widening his eyes a little and catching the smallest of smirks from Mitch.

"You sure, kid?" Mitch played along. "Apparently, the game is 'fixed'." He made little quotation marks in the air for the benefit of other witnesses - of which there were a lot. His acting was kinda shitty, but he was well used to the role of hard-done-by, but tolerant, circus man. A saint under fire from unreasonable customers.

"Yeah." Clint shrugged. "It looks a bit hard, but, you just gotta think about it, you know? I think I can do it. I watched this guy here and - I think I can."

The large man purpled. The woman's lips grew even more pursed. Their kid - waddling despite being obviously younger than Clint himself - narrowed mean little eyes at him.

Still, under the stares of a small crowd, they stood aside as Clint handed over some tokens and picked up the balls. The game was to get them into the bins, which were steep on the inside so that balls bounced right back out again.

But like he'd said - knowledge and skill were both something he possessed.

He missed the first one on purpose, ignoring the large guy's smug expression and the ripple of almost - sympathetic? - noise from the crowd.

People were weird.

The second he threw carefully so that it _almost_ bounced out and every ball after it - with an expression like 'yeah, I got it now' - he lobbed carefully so that it hit the perfect point at the side of the bin to roll in and not out.

Mitch handed over his prize, one of those creepy little monkeys with velcro hands that wrapped around you. Clint eyed it with distaste - damned Mitch _knew_ he hated the things - but took it and tried to look happy about it.

"Good job, kid." The carny said, over the round of applause his performance had gathered from the crowd. Newly-enthused about the game, many crowded closer to try their own hands at it. Clint slipped away again, keeping a sharp eye out for the fat man - sometimes angry customers liked to get a little angrier once they were somewhere more private - but the man just stormed away, his cheek working like he was chewing his own tongue in rage. His wife and little fatso kid scuttled after him, the kid's voice rising in a whining pitch.

He turned back and paused as his gaze caught on a shy set of green eyes, half-hidden behind a mess of black hair. Another kid, one of hundreds charging around except that this one looked more than a little underfed and wasn't carrying any sort of toy, snack or showbag.

In fact, judging from the expression of impressed awe… he was thinking the kid belonged to or was known to the fat guy - and was overall happy to have seen him publicly humiliated like that.

He grinned and winked, prompting a return flash of white teeth and crinkled eyes, before the kid ducked his head with a slight blush and slipped away.

Clint whistled a little as he passed the creepy toy off onto a little girl who'd been looking at it enviously. She beamed and barely paused long enough to say thanks before running off to show her new treasure to her friends.

The little show he'd put on would ripple through the crowd, dampening any other complaints for awhile. Still, he shouldn't react to any more or someone would catch on that he was just a little _too_ talented.

Someone else's turn, then. He'd head off to get ready for the show.

He crumpled up the empty bag in his hands, binned it, and jogged off towards his tent.

{}

The sun was setting and Harry had kind of forgotten his plan to join the circus. There was just so much going on! So much to see! Not all of the demonstrations asked for money - he'd seen one man swallow a sword and then if that weren't enough, he swallowed another which was _on fire_!

The hall of curiosities was also free and kinda scary, but Harry went through it again and again until he wasn't scared anymore.

The animals were also allowed to be petted for free - at least the little ones. There were normal farm animals in a separate pen, but the bigger one had an elephant, a couple of horses and what looked like a gigantic snake.

There were lots more people around the exciting animals, though, so Harry just stuck with the normal ones, petting a lamb which had come right over to him and nuzzled his hands. He figured he'd wait till just before the main show - everyone would leave early to get good seats, based on what Uncle Vernon had told Aunt Petunia in the car, so he'd get a shot then.

Unfortunately, just as the bell rang out to announce the start of the show, Dudley finally found him. His cousin had that stupid mean smirk on his face, the kind he only ever got when he was denying Harry something - or successfully blaming him for something else.

"What do you want, Dudley?" Harry asked warily. "You'll miss the show."

"No, I won't." Dudley replied, piggy little face grinning away. "I just need to make sure _you do_."

With that, the larger boy lunged for Harry. Harry, who was well used to being attacked by his cousin for no reason, leaped away from the other boy's grasp and bolted. Up over the fence he went, shooting past closing sideshow booths and the few adults still making their way towards the giant stripy tent. He could hear Dudley behind him, panting like a steam train but still young and determined enough to follow. Harry, hungry and tiring quickly, wouldn't be able to outrun his cousin for long. Harry was faster, but Dudley could keep up the chase longer - it had always been that way. Avoiding Harry Hunting came down more and more to cleverness and luck, than speed.

Well, except for that day he'd flown, of course. A gust of wind somehow lifting him up over the dumpster and onto the roof, over so quickly he was never quite sure what he remembered about it.

He could sure do with it happening again, though. He felt fingers swipe at his back, catching meanly in his hair and yanking out a few strands. Harry yelped in pain and desperate fear, forcing himself to speed up again. He was almost at the end of his strength already, any second now he'd slow down just enough and Dudley would shove him down and _pound _him…

He felt fingers again, just missing his hair but glancing off his shoulder blades and then… then…

Then he was rising up into the sky, just like before except _this_ time there was no nearby roof to land on! He heard Dudley shouting loudly behind him but couldn't pay him any mind, not when he himself was terrified of falling. His heart beat faster and faster, his arms pumping and… wait…

He tilted his head a little to the side, just enough to see… wings?

Long, lightly-patterned soft brown-white wings, somehow, impossibly, _his_.

He panicked and his arms - wings? - pumped out of synch, sending him spiralling and shrieking in fear. His butt twitched - no, something else close to it. Whatever it was, it reacted just as instinctively, evening out his flight once more until he could just about manage to land feet-first on the hood of a battered old jeep. His feet, no, _claws_, scritched against the paint and he flapped his wings a bit to try and find his balance.

What had happened?

Now that he wasn't in mid-air and afraid of falling, he realised that one of his wings hurt a little. Nothing bad, just a sprain like when Uncle Vernon pulled his arm too hard. Carefully, he folded his other wing back the way it wanted to rest but left the hurt one extended. It _ached_ when he tried to draw it in.

"_You _are in _so much trouble_."

Harry's head snapped around, Dudley's evil expression tempered only slightly by his lingering shock. The boy wavered on his feet, like he wasn't sure whether to run screaming or make another grab for Harry.

"I'm telling _**Dad**_." Dudley announced at last, surging forward, making Harry fall over as he tried to leap away with legs that were nowhere near as powerful as they'd used to be. Instinctively, he'd tried to run… and now he was on his back, defenceless.

He shrieked again, no real words behind it, just fear in his surprisingly loud new voice.

"**Hey!**"

Dudley stopped, sausage fingers hovering over Harry's little body. Both boys turned to look at the source of the sound. An older boy - the boy who'd shown up Uncle Vernon - was standing not too far away.

Harry had never seen anyone look so angry, not even Uncle Vernon and _his _face changed _colours._

"The **fuck** do you think you're doing?!" The older boy snarled, stalking closer. He didn't sound British anymore, not like at the ball-game. Dudley backed up a step but raised his chin.

"It's _my c-_bird." He said bravely - or stupidly. "I can do what I want with him."

Harry finally managed to thrash himself upright and gingerly tried to take off. It hurt more this time and he was crazy wobbly, but he managed to get himself a bit higher - on top of one of the poles from which colourful flags were strung.

"That's called cruelty to animals, dumbass." The other boy shot back. "You can go to _jail _for that. Now get the fuck out of here before I call security to _throw_ your ass out."

Dudley had never been talked to like that in his life. Chin quivering, he shot Harry a hateful look and ran off towards the big tent. The other boy scowled after him.

"Fuckin' asshole." He muttered to himself, before turning and looking up at Harry.

Harry tilted his head. Wow, he was just realising how _well _he could see as a bird! Did normal people see this well all the time? He could make out individual gold and green flecks in the boy's muddy hazel eyes.

The boy made an oddly low, soothing series of clicks at him.

"Hey, birdy. You okay?" He asked. Harry tilted his head the other way. What should he do? Change back?

Oh. Oh, no, no, he'd get in **so** much trouble. Uncle Vernon really _would_ beat the stuffing out of him after this - especially once Dudley told him that Harry did something as freakish as _turning into a bird_.

Maybe he'd just stay a bird for the rest of his life? It was even better than joining the circus because he could fly wherever he wanted! And birds didn't eat much, right?

"Your wing's lookin' a little bent outta shape, there." The boy continued, making Harry realise that he was actually… _concerned_ about him.

"Are you trained, boy? Can you come down?" The boy offered his forearm up hopefully. Harry stared at it. What on earth…?

"I promise I won't hurt you." He made the weirdly comforting clicking sounds again. "Lemme just make sure you're okay, yeah? Birds die if they can't fly."

Harry's eyes widened. They _**what**_?!

Right.

He spread his wings and awkwardly hopped off the pole. His body was so _light_ now, even the slightest gust or breeze had to be instantly adjusted for or it could bowl him right over.

He flapped heavily as he got close and managed to land on the boy's arm more by luck than anything else.

The boy looked relieved.

"There's a good bird." He crooned, digging in his pocket for something before holding it up. Harry studied it, trying to work out what it was. It smelled different, but.. It might be a bit of sausage?

…Why was there sausage in the boy's pocket?

Mentally shrugging, Harry delicately took a bite when the boy brought it close enough, feeling chuffed as a delighted smile spread over the boy's face.

"Awesome." The boy whispered to himself, feeding Harry the last few little bits.

"Okay." He seemed to shake himself. "Alright, I gotta go on soon, but I think I know where the local all-night vet is. We kinda have to, you know? Anyway, right after my spot, I promise I'll take you in for a proper checkup. Do you think you can stay till then? I fed you… you'll stay, right?"

Harry tilted his head and tried to say something a bit quieter than his previous loud shrieks. It came out weird and the boy just looked worried so tried to just bob his head instead.

Slowly, the boy smiled.

"Okay, cool. I'm Clint, anyway. Clint Barton. Don't worry, I'll take care of you."

Harry ruffled his wings a little and gripped the boy's arm tighter.

Yeah. Maybe he'd just just stay as a bird for just a little longer…

**{}**


	2. Chapter 2

Harry's breed was originally a common black hawk, for no other reason than my mundane linkage of black hair to black plumage.

But then I found the _**Harris Hawk**_ and, well… how can that _not_ be him?

Oh and it turns out that young!Clint has a bit of a potty mouth. I think the rating is still okay, though. It's come to my notice over the years that perception of the severity of language can differ from country to country.

**Birds of a Feather**

The boy - Clint - had carried him carefully to a large tree at the edge of the showground. Climbing one-handed had revealed a small nest, of sorts, tucked away in the hollow between three thick branches. One cushion, a couple of blankets and a heavy-looking cloth tied over the lot like a canopy formed a cosy little area protected from the wind on three sides.

Harry wondered if the boy had ever fallen out. Probably not. It was much too nice to. If ripper had ever chased Harry up a tree like this, he'd have quite happily stayed there!

There was a small bag crammed in between two other branches and it was onto this bag that Clint gingerly set him down. Harry wobbled and flared his wings for balance, cringing a little at the pain in his right wing, automatically compensating for it by mostly moving his left.

Clint stared at him, worry creasing his forehead.

"Will you be okay? I won't be long. Thirty-forty minutes, tops'" the boy promised. Harry tilted his head again, further than last time. It was kind of fun to be able to move that way, so different from a human boy, so he did it again, the other way. After a few rotations, he turned his attention back to the boy who'd saved him from Dudley. He seemed to be wondering whether he should tie Harry's leg to a branch or not, to make sure he didn't fly away.

Harry shrieked his opinion of _that_. The boy looked startled, then grinned.

"Yeah, I wouldn't like that either." He agreed. "And I guess if you can fly away, your wing's probably not broken. Just.." He stopped. Looked away. He looked sad and kinda lonely for a second. Harry knew it when he saw it, having felt like that quite a lot in his life.

"...nevermind."

Without another word, he dropped back down to the ground and took off. Harry cocked his head and stared after him. Was it something he'd said? Or, not-said? He might only be seven years old, but he was old enough to know that words could hurt - and he never wanted to hurt somebody the way his family had hurt him - especially not the first kid to ever be nice to him.

Maybe even... Maybe even his first friend?

Harry ruffled his feathers with delight at the idea and tried not to think about it too hard, in case it got taken away.

But maybe…

Clint had driven off his cousin. Had fed him. Taken him home. Didn't want him to fly away.

Maybe... Maybe Clint wouldn't mind if he stayed? If they became friends for real? Uncle Vernon had said Harry would be left behind and without Dudley around… maybe Clint might even like to be friends with Harry in his real body...?

He made a short, sad little sound without realising. Maybe he wouldn't. The kids at school never wanted to be friends, even when Dudley wasn't around. What if… what if when Clint realised Harry was actually a little boy and not a little bird, he stopped liking him? Chased him away or just avoided him like the kids at school?

Now a little sad and lonely himself, Harry looked up at a roar of laughter and cheers coming from the big tent. Night was falling quickly, the temperature with it and being by himself was a little scary.

Carefully, he stretched his sore wing. It still hurt but he'd moved with worse after one of Dudley's successful 'Harry hunts'.

He stretched wider, tail feathers flaring in reflexive preparation. It didn't even cross his mind to be nervous of flying. With one hard flap he took off; flying (a little awkwardly) towards the tent where everyone - and Clint - had gathered.

He'd get to see the show after all!

Take that, Dudley!

_Birds of a Feather_

Clint fiddled nervously with an arrow, flicking it between his fingers over and over as he waited for his cue. He couldn't stop thinking about the bird. It might be gone by the time he got back. He should have tied it anyway, instead of imagining that the bird had _feelings_ about it either way. It was a bird, and probably smart, but still just a bird. And not just any bird, he was pretty sure it was either a hawk or a falcon and since it'd obviously been trained at some point (it flew right onto his _arm_, how _cool_ was that?) leaving it untied was like saying 'this isn't your home', wasn't it? In trained-bird-speak? Or was that what hoods were for? Falconers put hoods on their birds so that the birds knew they were safe? Or something?

He didn't think _he'd_ feel safe with a hood over his head. That couldn't be right. He needed to hit up a library or something, find this shit out. He needed to know it, if he was gonna be taking care of the bird now.

And _man_ did he _**want**_ to. Like, really wanted. The way the bird had.. Had _responded_ to him, like it understood everything he said? That couldn't be normal, and he didn't think it was just his imagination either. It was… the special kind of strange. And it had come to him, despite just being menaced by another human. And if that lying sack really was the bird's owner, or the son of the bird's owner… well, the bird had still trusted _him_, a stranger, with almost no hesitation. That was like, the bird _choosing_ him over the other kid, right? The bird chose _him_ and that meant… that meant maybe he'd stay.

It also meant he had a responsibility to take care of it. 'Cause, that kind of trust? It was like a gift. He knew that better than anyone. And he wanted - **needed** - not to let that trust down.

So he just had to hope the bird would stick close long enough to let him prove himself, to show that Clint was worthy of being trusted like that.

But… But.

In the end, it _was_ just a bird. An almost-wild animal. It was trained to fly home and it probably would eventually, no matter _how_ nice he was to it. It'd leave him, because that's what it was trained to do. That was what _everyone_ did, sooner or later.

"And now, ladies and gentlemen, boys and girls, _**the**_ greatest marksman _**in the world**_, capable of _un_be_lievable _wonders and here to perform for you this very evening… The amaaaaazing _**Hawkeye**_!"

Princess Python gave him a shove towards the ring and he flicked a vicious look over his shoulder at her as he went. The creepy bitch's snake was absent from her shoulders, probably too heavy to let her rob people with any amount of swiftness - the fat slug. She and it didn't belong in the circus - didn't even have a real act. She was just a crook using a slutty dress and a phallic animal to get a free ride. No real skill or talent, unless you count not being murdered by your own pet as one. She couldn't even get it to do any cool tricks, mouthing off about such things being beneath them both.

What. The fuck. Ever.

Stepping into the blinding, familiar lights, Clint began his routine by rote. He smiled out over the crowd. Waved. Pretended to absently let go of his arrow during a particularly crazy wave only for it to slam dead centre of a target being worn by a clown who had snuck into the audience.

The usual shrieks and titters crowded the air as he leapt up to walk the narrow bar separating the ring from the customers. Clowns and scantily-dressed women rolled and jumped and waved, distracting the crowd as much as offering him ammunition and targets. His eyes, what he was most valued for in this circus of thieves, roamed the tent as he plucked a flower _here_ and threw the petals _there_ only to impale them all on the flower's stem with one precisely strong throw. A bucket of tiny, brilliantly-coloured balls filled the air and he batted them away without seeming to notice them, every single one dropping into a matching-coloured glass held out or fixed into place.

The crowd oohed, entranced and applauding and ignorant of the occasional clown or flashy lady slipping quick fingers into their forgotten bags and pockets at his subtle signal.

Yana, dressed to the nines in sequins and feathers, pranced out and handed him an equally tastelessly blinged-out bow, as the acrobats began their final routine - swinging by odd limbs to present small targets at odd angles for Clint to hit. It had taken _ages_ for them to agree to carry targets only as small as their heads, which they carried by larger handles and often tried to angle away from their bodies. Wusses. You'd think he'd have proved himself by now.

He never missed.

He took to the centre of the ring, standing in the spotlight above a flock of beautiful, sequined women (with light and nimble fingers) and whirled, absently sighting target after target and letting fly. No matter how much the acrobats hated it, this took hardly any of his attention. Most of it remained focused on the crowd as he performed the second part of his job as 'the incredible marksman' - picking out those targets _wearing_ something of value that couldn't be lifted during the first half of the act.

The ringmaster - Tiboldt - had a stupid-looking hat that could put people into a gormless trance. Clint didn't know _how_ it worked, just that it _did_. Once, he'd managed to draw _eighteen_ dicks all over one guy's face without snapping him out of it. He'd paid for it later - the python bitch had snitched on him, he _knew _it - but it'd still been pretty freakin' awesome.

Thing was, Tiboldt couldn't keep people under for very long - and not just in a 'needs more practice' way, but also in case anyone had been keeping an eye on the time and might miss too large a chunk. They also needed to know who was filming or had their camera set to auto - _those_ people needed to have their cameras set to 'oops' before anything else happened and it was down to _him _to direct everyone so that everything went smoothly.

Right at the end he spotted the bird high up at the back. It had followed him! It sat watching it all, out of the way, and was actually _dancing about_ on its perch in excitement.

He grinned. No _way_ that was a normal bird.

Remembering that he still hadn't hit the last target, he fired without looking. There was a muffled scream - from the unlucky acrobat who hadn't been expecting the delayed arrow - but applause quickly overpowered it.

Puh-_lease_, he knew this routine by heart. He knew where the target would be, even when the holder wasn't expecting an arrow anymore.

He glanced back up. The bird caught his eye and waved its wings twice - almost like it, too, was clapping - before it folded them again. One was still sticking out slightly and as Clint bowed and headed backstage to pass out jobs for everyone, he made a solid plan to catch a lift into town _tonight._ He wanted to catch that all-night vet the animal guys had mentioned. He was pretty sure he wouldn't be able to sleep until he knew the bird would be okay.

The clowns did a final run-around - distracting customers' eyes from those backstage, peering through slits in the canvass to mark their targets. Then the clowns flowed back to the centre of the tent, to the exit, slipping out as the lights went down and a spotlight focused everyone's attention on the Ringmaster's entrance. The Ringmaster himself stepped out, hat already whirling.

The tent fell silent, every sucker in the place slouching slack and mesmerised as carnies flocked to rob them of their jewellery and watches and concealed cash.

Without letting himself think about it, Clint did the same, refusing to look up. This was how real life worked. It had been a long time since he'd felt ashamed about what he did for a living and he wasn't about to start now - especially not on account of a bird who probably had no idea what it was even witnessing.

Still. He didn't look up. Couldn't, not until Zelda's python lunged out from under a bench, deliberately tripping him and hissing threateningly with jaws wide open. Clint's fingers itched to bury an arrow in its face but before he could even think of starting something he probably couldn't finish, there was a scream of predator rage and a mess of chocolate-and-cream feathers were in the way. It was the bird, its tiny claws lashing out at the snake's eyes, shrill voice shrieking more of a threat than it could back up.

The snake flinched back, twisted and reared. Clint snatched the bird out of the air and scrambled away, only to be grabbed by one of the muscle-men and hauled backstage as a furious Princess Python hustled her own animal away from the slowly waking public.

Clint cursed. The bird's screeches had broken the spell sooner than usual. The muscle-man didn't let go of his arm so _he_ let go of the bird, hoping it would fly up and away before anyone tried to kill it.

It _did_ fly up - about as far as his shoulder, where it perched unsteadily before turning to face the snake now being carried in on the red-headed bitch's shoulders - and hissed. It was an angry, savage sound that almost didn't sound like it _could_ come from the little bird body uttering it. The bitch herself was as wide-eyed as Clint, staring at his bird like she'd never seen one before. Then the snake on her shoulders was hissing too, almost constantly. He didn't think he'd ever heard it make so much noise - especially for so long.

Shallow scratches marred its eyelids and one eye was clearly damaged - if not severely. The bird's claws were just too _little_ yet to be capable of much more than superficial injury.

Still, the last thing he needed was _another_ reason for the snake and its pet bitch to hate him.

Out in the tent, Tiboldt recovered the show with gusto, calling out for their glittering contortionists who rushed into the ring to pull vaguely pornographic poses - it was cheap and ugly, but it got at least 50% of adult attention firmly distracted.

Rueben, the lion tamer, face ugly with scarring from disobedient cats, stormed over with a hand raised to grab the bird.

"It's my fault - it's _my fault_!" Clint babbled, backpedaling and raising his voice slightly to draw attention away from the defenceless animal. "I found the bird - it's smart, I've been training it - but it thought Zelda's snake was attacking me for real, so it attacked back. It won't happen again, I swear!"

"_Keep your voice down_." Rueben snarled lowly, although his own hand dropped and his eyes slid from Clint's desperate expression to the bird and back again. Clint felt the feathery warm body huddle closer to his neck and held his breath. Rueben had a short fuse but it tended to burn out quickly. He also had no love for the talentless hack that was Zelda.

He turned his glare to her.

"Keep that fucking waste of space _away_ from the brat! He's worth ten of _you_, so if we gotta get rid of one of ya-"

"I highly doubt Tiboldt will see it that way." Zelda sneered back. Rueben just smiled, ugly and cold.

"Tiboldt don't see further than his dick, when it comes to you." He spoke down to her. "But he can always get it wet elsewhere."

Face blotching with fury, Zelda slammed a hand out to slap him. Rueben caught it easily but had to release it to jump back as her snake lunged for him too.

Clint used the opportunity to back further away. He'd finished his set, the show was winding down - better to leave now and hope everything had blown over by the time he got back. Then again, Rueben was right in that Zelda had some pull with Tiboldt. If he left, the bitch might just bend his ear and blame him for everything.

The bird wobbled on his shoulder and he lifted an automatic hand to steady it, only for it to hop _onto _his hand. He brought it down, carefully, smiling at the bright-eyed curious bird staring back up at him.

"_That was pretty cool._" He whispered. "_How you just went for the snake. But be careful, okay? You'd be like a one-bite snack if it caught you."_

The bird ruffled its feathers and ducked down. It looked… _scolded_.

Tentatively, Clint stroked along its back. Its head came up.

"_Thanks, though_." He said even quieter. The bird pressed its head briefly against his fingers and he smiled.

_Birds of a Feather_

The fallout wasn't so bad. Rueben got to Tiboldt before Zelda could and made it out like Zelda lost control of her animal. Tiboldt frowned, she argued and Clint slipped away into the crowd of people slowly leaving. He swung by the 'baby' animals first, hitting up their handlers for the local vet's location then headed toward the parking lot with an eye to catching a lift.

"_**BOY**__-er__**, HARRY!**__"_

He glanced over, along with dozens of other people, to a giant tub of lard hollering from his car for his kid. The men and woman around him tisked or rolled their eyes or went about their own business in a smug sort of silence - showing off their social superiority to that _low-class-gentleman_. Children were held closer and people who'd been just about to shout for their own instead gestured sharply or made faces until their spawn obeyed.

People were sheep, man.

"_HARRY_!"

"Just leave it, Vernon." A woman, trying to keep her voice down but still shrill enough to carry, tugged at her husband's arm. "You know _they_ will bring him home, like always, and it's getting chilly - I don't want our Dudders catching cold."

"Quite right, Pet." _Vernon _agreed, though he still scoured the parking lot with his eyes. Clint recognised him as the sore loser from the sideshow, along with his fat brat of a son who was standing at his side, smiling meanly. Remembering that the kid claimed to own the bird currently riding on his shoulder, Clint moved to slip away.

"There he is, Dad! There's the boy who attacked me!" He heard from behind him. His eyes narrowed. People nearby were turning to look at _him_ now, making retreat a tricky prospect - not to mention it'd make him look guilty.

_You little shit._ He thought viciously, turning at the sound of huffing overweight slobs coming up behind him. The bird on his shoulder suddenly dug its claws in, _hard_. It recognised them.

If they thought they could take the bird _from_ him, though, they were in for a nasty surprise.

"_You!_" The man shouted. "Stop right there you little miscreant!"

Clint put on a baffled expression.

"Sir?"

"My Dudders tells me you jumped him before the show! Where's your father? I'll make sure he tans your hide!"

He hid his irritation. There were enough people around that the sack of shit couldn't do _jack_ to him, not without getting arrested.

"Sir, I think you've mistaken me for someone else. I was _in_ the show - with the arrows, remember? We don't have _time _to run around attacking customers, it's all hands on deck at the circus." He kept his voice between sincerity and humour, kept his shoulders relaxed and played up his youth as much as he could with arms as well-developed as his. His sharp eyes could pick out the softening of some of the people around him.

"Are you calling my son a liar?" The man demanded, doing his best to loom threateningly. Clint felt the bird on his shoulder huddle down in fear, felt his _own_ aggression surge in response.

"Yeah, I am." He replied coolly. The man swelled further, his face purpling but his son suddenly gasped and tugged at his arm.

"Dad. Dad! That's Harry! On his shoulder! I _told_ you!"

The man choked, anger mutating into something close to fear, or hate - or both - as he stared instead at the bird on Clint's shoulder - a shoulder that tensed as Clint readied himself to defend them both. The man's rotten little brat kept pulling and pushing at his father's arm, demanding attention.

"See Dad? I told you! The freak just flew away, just like I said! Then this boy said, um, then he attacked me!"

_Vernon_ made a decision.

"You must have been mistaken Dudley." He said stiffly, then to Clint; "My apologies, young man."

His son's jaw dropped, colour touching his cheeks. He started to shriek as his father hauled him back towards their car.

"But it _is_ Harry it _is, it is! Stop it! __**Stop it**_! LISTEN to me! Daaaaad, listen! _**Listen**_**!**"

The man jerked to a halt and for a second looked ready to belt his own son before he choked his anger down with a false, twisted smile.

"Now now, none of that son. Be a good boy and get in the car and tomorrow I'll take you out anywhere you want. Hmm? Maybe to get that Super Family game or whatever?"

The boy drew a deep breath to continue screaming, then stopped short. His face scrunched up in thought.

"You mean… a Super Nintendo Entertainment System? Really Dad? And my own telly to go with it? You need to have a telly to go with it."

The man forced a chuckle.

"We'll see, Dudley, we'll see. Hop in the car like a good boy and we'll talk about it all at home, eh?"

The boy frowned, glanced back at Clint and his bird, but got in the car and crossed his arms, snapping at his mother when the woman leaned back to do up his seatbelt. Clint watched the family drive out, honking occasionally at slower cars or families getting in their way.

Slowly, he and his bird relaxed.

"What a rotten family." He observed. "Kinda makes me glad not to have one."

He glanced to the side as the bird shifted, catching it bobbing its head in agreement. He grinned and held up his wrist for the bird to step onto again.

"You really do understand me, don't you? Was that your old family? The brat seemed like the kind to scream until he got a trained bird like you, only to fuck it all up."

The bird seemed to consider him for a second then, hesitantly, nodded. Clint chewed his lip.

"They said… Harry. Is that _your_ name? Harry?"

The bird nodded again, huddling into itself a little. Clint smiled at it.

"Well, nice to meet you, Harry. You seem pretty smart, so I guess you _can_ decide for yourself… Do you. Do you wanna stay with me? If you don't wanna be in the act, that's cool, we can just hang out-"

The bird wobbled, lifting its wings wide - one dragging a little - and brushed them lightly against his face.

Clint _grinned_.

"Awesome."

He lifted the bird back to his shoulder and went to hunt down a ride. It wouldn't be a hardship to walk _back, _but the vet only accepted non-emergencies till a certain hour.

"I'll be a much better family for you than _them_, Harry. I promise."

**Birds of a Feather**

I know this plot is probably pretty predictable, but I wonder how many people are expecting what will actually happen. Hmmm.


End file.
